


Pizza For One

by BorkMork



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Pain, Pizza, Post-Episode: s06e09 Little Graduation, Steven enjoys his pizza, Steven loves pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorkMork/pseuds/BorkMork
Summary: "Pizzas were for friend gatherings.When a friend needed a way to vent or bring themselves an outlet for their frustrations, Steven always saw pizza as the best way to make them feel better. It was warm, the reminder of comfort on their tongues with the casual topping placed in; when they taste this comfort, there was a  belief that things would be okay, and that tears or hugs would allow some form of catharsis even if it was temporary. It was the kind of reassurance that could make long-lasting bonds, laughter, joy, emotional openness—everything one needed to be happy."Steven enjoys a pizza at the end of Little Graduation.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	Pizza For One

Pizzas were for friend gatherings. 

When a friend needed a way to vent or bring themselves an outlet for their frustrations, Steven always saw pizza as the best way to make them feel better. It was warm, the reminder of comfort on their tongues with the casual topping placed in; when they taste this comfort, there was a belief that things would be okay, and that tears or hugs would allow some form of catharsis even if it was temporary. It was the kind of reassurance that could make long-lasting bonds, laughter, joy, emotional openness—everything one needed to be happy.

That was his first thought when he ordered his batch. It was a quick order—cheese tripled and decked with different vegetables alongside a cup of his favorite garlic sauce—and he gave his tips, his congratulations to the Fish Stew workers, and made his way to his car. It had the same ingredients he needed to make himself warm. The same campfire-feelings that would satisfy him of any sad slips. The perfect recipe.

With the sea asleep and the sun moving on for another night, he kept the pizza box in his passenger seat; he was going to protect this pizza; it was delicious after all, it would be bad if the magic of it went away and made room for the cold. Steven smiled to himself, but it melted away as he got himself ready, seatbelt on, foot on the pedal.

He needed some time to think, and the pizza was the only way to remedy it.

The drive felt long and winding. His mirrors gave him glances of the leading lights of the city, shrinking into pitiful specks as he kept his eyes on the road. His radio sang in quiet whispers, the lyrics with its electric melody sullying his body. Steven pressed more into his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a hesitant concerto.

_“I’m a person and the person that I am can change_  
_So_  
_I’m looking forward, I’m looking forward_  
_I’m looking forward now_  
_I’m looking forward, I’m looking forward_  
_I’m looking forward now”_

Asphalt turned into dirt trails. Dark-verdant fields made way for Delmarva pine. The hit of nature stung his nose—strong, earthy, plentiful. Why didn’t he come here sooner? Didn’t Connie say that connection to nature allowed some form of peace?

Well, better late than never.

His dondai parked into an enclosed space. Turning off the engine, he got out, stretching his body as he surveyed the landscape. The opening welcomed him with the thrum of nature; the crickets sang in a low mood, an unseen owl scouting out the area with its vibrant hoot; where the thrush cradled the front of his car and the moonlight gleamed down on him in a sheen of stars. It was perfect.

The pizza was there for him when he brought it out from the passenger seat. Sweet smells wafted from its openings, Steven licking his lips. Leaning against his vehicle’s side, he opened it, the warmth emanating from it hitting him within mere minutes. Heat. Comfort. The promise of mellow snacking on an amazing night. It sounded just like every other moment he used a pizza to help another companion of their struggles, and now he would take that chance to remedy the day’s comeuppances.

He took a bite.

There was warmth. That was for certain. But it didn’t work.

He took another bite.

The mushrooms and spinach hit him, with its soft texture and loving combination. But it didn’t work.

Still warm like homemade bread, but it wasn’t enough.

What if he removed the mushrooms?

He plucked the mushrooms off. His eyes kept honing in on each speck of topping, putting them into a neat-seated napkin on his passenger seat.

The pizza was clean of it now. The only things he had left were the triple-decked cheese, the spinach, onions, and tomatoes.

He took a bite.

It was warm, tender to the tongue. But it wasn’t enough.

The tomatoes must have been too ripe; he plucked them out in meticulous fashion.

His napkin piled on.

Then another bite.

He removed the onions. They must have been too strong.

And then another.

The spinach.

Another.

And another.

He didn’t know when he stopped; he didn’t know what came to at that moment, but a revelation came to him as he took his last bite, the taste souring his mouth: the pizza was cold now, down to its barest essentials, holes of ruptured sauce peaking through the horrible layers of cheese. It was macabre now. Ugly.

He messed up again.

Steven didn’t feel like eating anymore.

He placed the pizza box down to the forest floor. At least the ants had something to eat, at least he could give them _that_ , right? He ruined his own food with just a simple touch of his fingers—they deserved that pizza more than him.

Is this what it felt like?

To ruin people when you have no more purpose left?

To find meaning or problems in something that never needed fixing?

_To be a burden?_

He bit his lower lip. Heart heavy, limbs weighing him down like ball chains, he climbed onto the roof of his dondai. It was sturdy even with its old stature, its neat and simple design harboring his weight like a needed friend on a painful day. He didn’t know what he was doing, all he could do was just fold his arms behind his head, watching the space above him go aimlessly—their purpose muddled in questions.

Purpose. Purpose.

Everything had a purpose.

The stars burned bright and sparked out in an instant. Galaxies harbored neighborhoods of planets, which then harbored wildlife or rocky terrain or anything in between. Something had a purpose, something that kept themselves going on with their days even if it zoomed past in light-years or even more.

He had a purpose once. He spent years fulfilling it, but why did he feel so empty? What was he supposed to do now?

Everyone is leaving, finding their own paths, and all he could do is watch from the sidelines, scuffing the dirt, being pathetic over the fact that he can’t get the happily ever after he wanted.

Heat pricked his eyes. He rubbed them, mumbling to himself at the sting piling into his nose; there wasn’t a remedy to the hollow feeling in his gut or the twisting aches of his forehead or the wheeze in his chest or the piling shame deep within him.

He didn’t know why he was crying, but he knew for a fact that no one was around.

No one was around to see him.

And nobody was around to stop him when he covered his face with the brunt of his arms, his heart-soaked sobs mingling into the night’s quiet symphony.

**Author's Note:**

> At least the ants enjoyed the pizza.


End file.
